


Release

by causeimdifferent



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:03:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1780117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/causeimdifferent/pseuds/causeimdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>„If you're not careful, you'll end up behind bars.“</p><p>Philip's words to Thomas rang like mockery in his head.</p><p>As if he'd had a premonition. As if he'd wanted to warn himself.</p><p>Thomas had not ended up in jail.</p><p>Philip had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Release**

 

Jail offers a lot of time to contemplate the past.

To think about where things went wrong.

 

_Where you went wrong._

 

„Don't be a bad loser, Thomas. Go to bed. Unless you want to stay.“

 

Philip was sick of the memory. Of his cruel last words to Thomas all those years ago. In his bedroom at Downton Abbey. Yet the scene kept forcing itself upon Philip. Even though – or perhaps because - he tried to run from it. Desperately.

 

How self-satisfied he'd felt. How smug. What a brilliantly scathing departure. Thomas had deserved it. The wannabe blackmailer. No better than any renter on the streets. A good fuck. But scum. Or so Philip had thought.

 

He had been wrong.

 

A week later, he had received a letter. From Thomas. Even before opening it Philip had decided to completely ignore the apology.

 

It wasn't one.

 

The letter in the envelope was a slap in the face. A punch in the stomach. Yet a declaration of love. And devastating.

 

The letter in the envelope had been written by himself, Philip. Written to Thomas at the height of their romance. Brimming with love and passion. Devotion even. Philip's cheeks started to burn as he read it once again. It had been the most intimate of all his letters to Thomas. The most explicit. The most incriminating.

 

There was no note, no nothing to accompany it. There needn't be.

 

If Thomas had wanted to take revenge, to really blackmail Philip, this one letter alone would have sufficed. Amply.

 

It showed clear signs of wear. He must have held it dear. Maybe carried it with him. Read it many times.

 

And now he'd given it back.

 

The threat to black mail him had been made out of hurt, maybe of desperation even. „A swallow doesn't make a summer.“ Philip had been cruel. And Thomas had been cruel in return. On the spur of the moment.

 

Philip wanted to burst with tears. But he'd long forgotten how to cry. He so yearned for the release.  
It would not come. So he turned to stone.

 

Trying to patch things up had never occurred to him.  
To apologize.

 

Philip had never loved again. Not with his heart. Physically, yes. Quite a lot. Harsh, cold, reckless. Too reckless to get away with it unscathed. It had only been a matter of time until his illusion of invincibility was shattered. His wife had divorced him after three years of fake married bliss. After his conviction she'd returned to America.

 

He had asked for it. Unconsciously. To break free from the chains of his double life. From the constant lie. From whoring himself out to a life that was not his. Long gone were the times, when he had found his life of lies and deceit intriguing. It had made him more and more unhinged, furious, self-destructive even.

 

No polo, no boxing, no hunting was capable to ease the pain. Merely risky, loveless sexual adventures. Always just for an instant. A day or two at most. Until the hunger, that could not be stilled, returned.

 

„If you're not careful, you'll end up behind bars.“

 

Philip's words to Thomas rang like mockery in his head.

As if he'd had a premonition. As if he'd wanted to warn himself.

 

Thomas had not ended up in jail.

 

Philip had.

 

Gross indecency. Two years of hard labor.

 

One year was almost done. Philip had received exactly two visitors: His attorney who told him he quit him due to lack of chances of easing his detention conditions. Oh, and due to lack of payment, actually. And Leonard his oldest friend – or so he'd thought. Who told Philip he could not cover his attorney bills any longer because it might incriminate him – oh, and that he had to stop seeing him altogether, by the way.

 

Only at times of crisis do you know who your true friends are. Or if you have any at all.

 

Philip had none.

 

He'd never been one to consider suicide. But after Leonard's visit he thought about it daily. He tried not to. But what was there left to live for? No friends and no money. Philip had lost it all. Splashed his own remaining fortune as soon as he had married Victoria, a filthy rich American heiress, just as he'd planned. Believing – or rather not thinking at all – he'd never ever be short of money again. Somewhat ignoring the fact that something such as divorce could happen.

 

And did happen. Philip had never thought he'd ever be poor. But he had managed it. He had lost everything, living the high life until there was absolutely nothing left. Even his title was worthless now. No woman in her right mind would want to be associated with a convicted sodomite.

 

Philip's life was over.

 

And still he could not cry.

 

„You have a visitor, Crowborough.“

 

Philip laughed a bitter laugh. Oh so funny indeed. He remained on his cot. If there was anything left to cherish at all it was time away from the treadmill, from bone crushing labor that had even taken a toll on someone as physically fit as Philip. In combination with the trash that was served under the label of 'grub', Philip had lost at least 20 pounds in the course of the past year. If the tendency continued he'd be a mere shadow of himself at the time of his release.

 

Yet another reason to just exit this life. Philip was not handsome anymore. A year in gaol had rendered him gaunt, ashen and broken.

 

„Are you deaf?“ bellowed the warden.

 

„Are you sure it is not a mistake?“ Philip had no idea who could want to see him.

 

„No“, came the harsh reply.

 

When he saw him sitting behind the bleak table in the even bleaker visitor's room, a shiver went through Philip.

 

His knees turned weak and his legs almost gave way underneath him. The warden grabbed Philip's arm. Leaving bruises. „Pull yourself together, man!“, he bawled at him.

 

The visitor was Thomas Barrow. Pale skinned, black haired, beautiful as ever.

 

„How did you find me?“ Philip croaked.

 

„It was all over the newspapers“, Thomas replied. His voice soft. Carrying no trace of malice, of satisfaction seeing the misery of his former lover.

 

But something else.

 

Compassion.

 

Philip cried before he even knew.

 


End file.
